Chapter 23
PRESLEY
“Mama!”
My heart leaps, the shrill greeting, paired with the stomping of little feet, the cherry on top of the perfect day sundae. As fantastic as it was to have some “me time” and be pampered within an inch of my life, I missed my boys.
Both of them.
“Hey, bu—”
“We cooked!” Otis cuts me off, jumping up and down. “We made in chilly abas!”
In chilly abas?
I force a smile as I try to decode that one. Usually, I’m pretty quick at determining what he means. Then again, I also usually have some kind of context clue. As far as in chilly abas go, I’m in the dark.
“Let Mama get in the door, Little Man,” Jace mock scolds, appearing behind him and scooping him up.
Otis giggles, the happy sound bouncing off the walls. The clean walls. And the clean floor.
Holy shit…this place is spotless.
I walk inside, shedding my jacket and purse, my eyes bouncing off every amazingly clean surface, so taken aback by the scene. I swear, if this place could sparkle, it would. If the bathrooms look half this good, then Jace is hired.
“Hi,” he greets, a massive smile taking over. Leaning into me, he steals a quick kiss, like it’s a given. An automatic thing whenever one of us walks through this door.
“Hi.”
“How was your day?”
“Fabulous. Over the top and completely unnecessary.” I sigh. “But absolutely fabulous.”
“Good, that’s what we were going for.” Jace steals another kiss, then steps backward, turning to head back to the kitchen.
“In chilly abas!” Otis throws his hands up, still ready to be the life of the party, and clearly annoyed that the adults are taking their time.
“Enchiladas…” Jace corrects him. “They’re called enchiladas.”
In chilly abas…enchiladas. Gotcha. That makes sense now. Almost to the point where I feel a little stupid for not getting there on my own.
“You cooked?”
Jace turns to face me. “Sure did. And they are just about ready, if you want to have a seat.”
I follow them into the kitchen, walking slowly to admire the work they did today. Seriously, I can’t get over this. I don’t think this place was this clean when we moved in.
Shuffling Otis from Jace’s arms to mine, I turn my focus to him and getting situated at the table.
He objects at first, trying to tell me that he’s going to serve me dinner.
That idea gets vetoed by both Jace and me, although I think the only reason Otis listened is because Jace said so.
He is clearly the one with all the cool points right now.
“Alrighty, here we are…” Jace places a large baking dish fully of bubbling goodness in the middle of the table.
My tummy gurgles, ready to dive in. Jace grabs Otis’s plate, scooping some of the dish onto it, then cutting it into little kid bite-size pieces.
“This half is plain cheese, so it’s Little Man approved. Careful, it’s hot.”
Placing the plate back in front of Otis, Jace hesitates, and I can see the questions firing in his brain. Safety first really is his way of life.
“Little bites,” I say, jumping in to rescue him. “And blow on each one at least three times before you put it in your mouth. Okay?”
“’tay!”
Nodding, Jace lowers the plate, then turns to me, holding out his hand for mine. “And this half…is pork with chipotle and poblano peppers. I know how you like things spicy, Mama.”
Holy hell…is it hot in here? Or is it me?
My cheeks heat up, a wave rushing up the back of my neck at Jace’s words. On the surface, they’re perfectly innocent. I do love me some spicy food. But the look on his face—that devilish grin and the mischief in his eyes—tells me exactly how he meant it.
Jace Hayes was not talking about food.
He’s also not wrong.
“Sounds delish.” I wink back at him, hoping that he notices my reaction.
Jace finishes doling out dinner, and we settle in, all three of us cautiously digging into the hot meal.
A medley of flavors bursts on my tongue, from spicy to tangy to salty, and I’m overwhelmed as I try to figure them all out.
Each bite brings more and more—a burst of this, a crackle of that—leaving me on the edge of my seat as to what I’ll get next.
“You like?” Jace asks, the hesitation in his voice letting me know that he’s nervous about my reaction.
I smile, wanting to assure him that he knocked it out of the park.
“I love.”
Jace’s smile wavers for a second, like he wasn’t expecting that reaction. It morphs into a shit-eating grin almost as fast, that impish glint in his eyes burning even brighter. He looks prouder than a peacock. Who knew two little words about his cooking…
Shit. Did he think that I meant…no. He knew I meant the food. Right? Because this isn’t my coded way of telling him that I…you know. Because I…well, I’m not ready to say that.
“The dinner,” I squeak, panic rising in me that he’s now thinking something totally different. “What you made. I love—”
“Me too.”
Jace winks, taking a large bite and then turning to Otis. Like he didn’t just flip my world upside down and inside out with that little nothing. Holy shit…
“So…” I need to change the subject. STAT. “You two had a productive day.”
“We did. Wanna tell Mama all about it, Little Man?”
Otis perks up, his eyes lighting up the same way Jace’s did a moment ago. If I didn’t know better, I’d think like father, like son. But I do know better. Jace has been there more for Otis than his biological dad ever has.
Fork dropping and clattering against the table, Otis shifts to face me, his cheeks covered in enchilada sauce.
“We went to see Lannon—”
“Landon,” Jace corrects him with a soft chuckle.
Otis doesn’t blink though. Or stop to take a breath. “He let me play in the fire truck! I honked the horn and made the sirens go! And he gave me a hat!”
“Oh, wow!”
“And we visited Unka Antwon, and he let me ride the tractor!”
My heart bursts, hearing him refer to one of Jace’s brothers as Uncle. It’s not the first time either, solidifying that to Otis, that’s who Anton is. Like it’s nothing. Just this guy’s name. Only it’s not—it’s everything.
I choke back the emotions that are threatening to spill over, pushing a smile to my face. This is the happiest I’ve been in so long, but explaining happy tears to a preschooler is more than I can handle.
“The tractor? And the fire truck? Big day, dude.”
“And then haved lunch with Miss Belle. She made me dino nuggies!”
Dino nuggies? Belle Hayes owns dino nuggies? Of all the things I didn’t see coming…
“And she ’vited me to come back tomorrow! You too, Mama!”
Errrr…come again?
I scrunch my brow, trying to piece it all together.
Dude’s day consisted of a visit to the fire station, Hayes farm, and Jace’s parents, where my child was conveniently served one of his favorite meals and then invited back again for lunch?
Otis isn’t generally a storyteller, but I’m starting to wonder if he’s turning into one.
There’s a first time for everything, after all.
Jace must get a telegraph of the jumbled mess in my brain—either that or he can read the confusion on my face—because he interjects.
“Tomorrow is Sunday dinner, a Hayes family tradition. We all congregate over at Magnolia Manor every Sunday afternoon and hang out and eat. Well, maybe not all of us, every week. But most of us…most weeks. Depending on who has what going on. During lunch today, Miss Belle invited you and Otis to join us tomorrow.”
Oh, my-lanta. Dinner with the whole Hayes family. Not just any dinner either. Sunday dinner. We’re invited to Sunday dinner.
“I don’t want to intrude,” I say, trying to be polite. As honored as I am, and as much as I want that—to be a part of the family tradition—I hate the idea that anyone would feel obligated to invite us. I don’t want to overstep simply because we’re armpit deep in a fling.
“You’re not. I planned on asking you myself, but my mama beat me to the punch by inviting Little Man.”
He nods over at Otis, who nods emphatically, even though I’m sure he doesn’t have any idea what he’s really agreeing with.
Ignoring his fork, he digs into his enchiladas with his hands, shoving a big bite into his mouth.
I start to correct him, but Jace beats me to the punch, picking up the fork and handing it to him.
Be still my heart…
“Okay then, if you’re sure it won’t be an intrusion.”
“Promise.”
I’m going to Sunday dinner at Magnolia Manor. With the Hayes family. Holy cow.
Internally, I squeal. My inner cartoon character self is doing a little happy dance. The cute boy I’m crushing on just asked me to have dinner with his family. That’s a big step, no matter who you are.
“So, after all this excitement, you got to come home and clean the house? What’d you do, tucker him out so that he’d nap and stay out of the way?”
“Actually, we did the fire station with Landon, then lunch at Magnolia Manor, where we saw Anton, who asked if Otis wanted to ride the tractor again. The plan had been to go get him some fishing gear at The Booby Trap, but farm equipment and the greenhouse was more exciting, so we saved that for another day.”
That doesn’t make sense. If they did things in the order that Jace just laid out, then there wouldn’t have been much time to clean—especially to the level it appears—and then get home to make dinner. Hell, based on that schedule I’m not sure how they had enough time to make enchiladas from scratch.
“Then…then when did you clean the house?”
Jace gives me a sheepish look, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t clean it. I hired someone.”
“Jace—”
“Her name is Maggie. She’s been working for my parents for years. She’s trustworthy, and reliable, and will be here every other Thursday to take care of the house.”
“I can’t afford that.”
“Who said you’re paying?”
My jaw drops. I can’t let him do this. Helping me out this time is one thing, but putting someone on a regular rotation? That’s a whole different ball of yarn. He already went above and beyond with today.
Again, he sees my objections coming, his defense already locked and loaded.